


Memories

by taylorannemackenzie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorannemackenzie/pseuds/taylorannemackenzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say a picture is worth a thousand words. But do they know that it can also trigger a million memories?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

Pale, bony hands with paper-like skin and chipped nails reach blindly underneath the low dresser for the dropped pound note that had fluttered away, seemingly wanting to hide underneath the slab of oak with handcrafted drawers. But what is found instead is a pocket watch. Weak, wrinkly fingers attempt to pry apart the clasp, but to no avail. Thin legs help the even thinner body totter outside to the living room. The index finger taps a young women's shoulder, and a wobbly voice speaks.

Youthful hands with plum-painted fingernails pluck the gold watch out of the rough palm. Nimble fingers open the lock with ease. Upon receiving the item, animated blue orbs peer inside. On one side is the long-since-broken clock, its hands telling the time of 2:01, but opposite that is a photo. It is old and weathered. It is yellowed and the edges are water-damaged. And yet, it could not be more perfect. For, with just a glance at this decades-old picture brings back every moment; glances, touches, and the final whispers of _forever._

The icy blue eyes scrunch up in joy as gentle tears drip down the porcelain cheeks. The memories brought back are of an awkwardly—but don’t you dare let him catch you saying that—dancing gentleman clad in blazers with a mess of chocolate curls. Remembering how lost steely eyes could get when taking a single look into the depths of the swirling sea green ones. The slightly hunched figure stands there for several minutes, not wanting to lose the images that race through his mind as if they happened just moments ago, for he is not sure when they may return.

The hand closes itself, clasping the well-worn chain as tight as it possibly can.

Slipper-clad feet amble back into the bedroom where they've spent the past seventeen years alone in. The timeworn body collapses into its bed. It falls into a slumber filled with nothing but peace, with the fingers gripping the golden locket's chain. Within his sleep he is embraced with tattoo covered arms and peppered with feather-light kisses.

Louis Tomlinson will never wake again.


End file.
